September 2012

2012.09.04

So that when, on a hot and sticky summer evening after a long work day, when you've little time or inclination to cook but don't want popcorn for dinner (again), you can pull a few out of the fridge -- having stowed those grilled eggplants away as leftovers in a covered container (a week or less ago) -- and lay them on a cutting board and slice them, peel and all, lengthwise and then rock your knife or cleaver crosswise through those wide strips for about a minute, back and forth back and forth -- slow and easy, it's a form of meditation, really -- until they're reduced to a rough puree, and put them in a bowl and stir in a few spoonfuls of thick Greek-style yogurt and a dab of garlic squashed and mashed under that same knife with salt until reduced to a paste, and squeeze over some lemon juice and of lemon juice and stir it healthily, briskly.

So that you can spread some ground lamb or a mix of ground lamb and beef on another cutting board, into a flattened rectangle, and sprinkle over half a minced onion and a fistful of chopped parsley and more salt and plenty of Turkish-style crushed red chili (or any crushed red chili, really) and maybe some fragrant dried mint and a few tablespoons of cooked bulgur and do that rocking-chopping thing again over the meat rectangle, east to west and north to south, and then fold the rectangle in on itself as if you were making layered pastry, top to botton and right to left and then rock-chop it all again, slowly, and fold it in again and rock-chop it again (all the while knowing that you're doing this because if you take the quick way out and zap it in a food processor the meat will become bouncy and anyway the processor isn't faster anyway because you won't have to assemble/deassemble/wash/reassemble the bowl and its parts) --but also because this is also a form of meditation, meditation over meat and cutting board -- and then divide the meat and spices it into squash balls or tennis balls (depending on how much patience you have for molding balls into fissure-free patties), and wet your hands and gently, ever so gently, pat the balls into discs.

So that you can heat a skillet (a non-stick skillet if you don't want to fiddle with stickiness or have a general fear of browing meat) and slick it with a little olive oil and heat the oil to sizzling and slide in the patties and listen to your stomach rumble as they pop and sputter and brown in the skillet and send up a meaty, slightly exotic-smelling (yes, exotic, there's no other word for it even if you do hate how the word is so often used) cloud and revel in the sense of accomplishment that a perfectly seared piece of meat can give almost any cook, and then lay them on the bed of eggplant-yogurt shmear that you've spread on a plate next to an unruly mound of salad greens and dribble the pan juices over the lot, forming a ruby red necklace that pops from the lightish green of the eggplant.

So that you can squeeze a piece of lemon over it all and alternate mouthfulls of the cool, silky eggplant with warm spicy meat, crispy greens (you prefer a touch of bitter from the addition of a leaf such as radicchio or arugala) and the fresh acidic bite of the lemon, and marvel at the tenderness of the kofte -- they are, in a way, kofte -- beneath their crispy golden exterior -- not to mention the fact that you've just thrown together what is honestly a pretty princely (darned impressive, even) -- meal in under 30 minutes.

[I usually roast, rather than grill my eggplants, a dozen or so at a time. Prick all over with a fork, rub with olive oil, bake in a 350/180 oven for 45 minutes to an hour, turning a few times, till they're absolutely soft. Works with small round Indian or long Asian eggplants. And sometimes I add a tablespoon -- not more, because then it all becomes too rich -- of tahini/sesame paste to the eggplant mix. Consider the dish a bastardized hünkar beğendi or ali nazik.]